


You're lucky (I don't need your SAT words to want you)

by redsnake05



Category: Bandom, The Cab
Genre: First Time, M/M, Past Relationship(s), Touring
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-08-30
Updated: 2010-08-30
Packaged: 2017-10-11 08:37:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,900
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/110474
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redsnake05/pseuds/redsnake05
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cash sees Ian shirtless in the van and starts thinking things. But he's been down that road with a friend before and isn't going to mess things up again</p>
            </blockquote>





	You're lucky (I don't need your SAT words to want you)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [colouredmango](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=colouredmango).



The first time was an accident. How was Cash to know that Ian would be in the van getting changed right when he really, really needed to find his wallet? He pulled open the door and dove into the van, intent on getting to his seat. He stopped his headlong dive when he found Ian's torso in the way.

"Cash, what the fuck?" said Ian, looking down at him from where he was standing in the narrow aisle. A t-shirt dangled from his fingers, but Cash could barely look away from the skin in front of him, mere inches from his face. Ian's skin was smooth and brown and he smelled of fresh body spray, sharp against the stale stink of the van. Cash was on his knees in front of him for a long instant before he kind of fell backwards onto his ass as he scrambled away. Ian put his hands on his hips and Cash looked up at him, determinedly not lingering on the muscles of his chest and arms.

"I forgot my wallet," he said. Ian smiled then and flicked at him with his t-shirt.

"And that's why you come barging into the van like a mad thing and nearly smash your face into my groin?" he asked. "You're lucky I wasn't a little closer to the door."

Cash hadn't thought about Ian's groin, but at his words, his eyes dropped there, taking in the way his jeans stretched over his thighs and hugged his hips. Yeah, Cash was lucky. He bolted back out of the van and jogged back towards the store. If he concentrated hard enough, he was sure he could wipe away the mental images of Ian's belly just under his nose, close enough to lick and nibble if he'd just leaned a little closer.

Standing at the counter, Cash shoved his choices of delicious snack food closer to the cashier and reached for his wallet. He groaned as he patted his empty pocket. Ian crashed into him cheerfully from the side, wrapping his arm round his shoulders and hugging him close. He still smelled good and Cash found himself remembering how his arms looked, bare and wiry. Ian dumped his treats onto the counter and held Cash's wallet out to him.

"You're such a spazz," he said cheerfully. "I can't believe you came barging into the van, nearly got a faceful of my crotch, and then ran without even getting your wallet." He shook Cash gently as he laughed. Cash swallowed his whimper at the thought of his face buried in the rough denim of Ian's jeans. He really didn't need to think about this. "You can buy mine, in gratitude," announced Ian. The cashier raised an eyebrow at Cash, who nodded dumbly.

Ian kept his arm wrapped around Cash's shoulders as Cash paid and they trailed out to the van again. Cash was intensely aware of the way he fitted into Ian's embrace, how easy it would be to turn his head and have his face right there, buried in Ian's neck so he could drink in the smell of his skin, feel its heat.

God, Cash was going crazy. He was grateful for the loud war whoop Marshall made as they neared the van. Ian dropped his arm from round Cash and he should have been relieved to be free. Instead his whole side felt cold, even though the day was warm. He laughed and pushed at Marshall as he was jostled by the scuffle over Ian's bag of food, but it felt forced. He was grateful to Johnson when he shouted at them to get into the van, already climbing into the front seat, next to Singer behind the wheel. Huddling into his seat, he put in his earbuds and tried to sleep. Anything to gain respite from his sudden crazy awareness of Ian and how much Cash wanted to touch him. Wanting to touch your friends never ended well.

&gt;&gt;&gt;&gt;

Cash tumbled through the door to the dressing room after the show that night, still sweaty and exhilarated, just in time to see Ian tug up his t-shirt, slipping one arm out of it at a time before dragging the whole thing over his head. Cash stopped in the doorway, suddenly oblivious to the sounds of his other bandmates in the hallway. All he could see was the soft curve of the back of Ian's neck and the play of muscles over his shoulders. The only sound was his breathing, too loud in his ears. Ian was sweaty from playing, and it should have been gross to see the beads of moisture on his skin. But Cash wanted to grab a towel and pat him down, maybe run his thumbs over the skin afterwards, finding any sore spots and digging into them just to see Ian arch and relax under his hands. He knew that Ian would make the best noises. He swallowed hard, jerked out of his reverie only when Marshall slammed into him from behind, sending him flying forwards.

Half turning at the commotion, Ian caught Cash by the shoulders, steadying him as he struggled to find his feet again. Cash could hardly breathe, not knowing where to look with Ian's sharp collarbones right in front of him. His fingers itched to touch.

"Cash?" Ian asked, smiling at him. "Cash, are you okay? You look like you've seen a ghost."

"No, no ghosts," Cash said. He stifled a noise of dismay as Ian slid his hands from Cash's shoulders.

"Okay," said Ian. "Man, I'm so stiff." He shrugged his shoulders before he linked his hands behind his back and stretched so his spine arched. Letting his head tip back, hair sticking in strands to the damp length of his neck, he looked wanton, especially when he groaned softly as he pulled his hands back, making his chest curve more. Cash couldn't look away from him, transfixed again, and, this time, starting to get uncomfortably hard inside his jeans.

The banging of the door made Cash jump and tear his eyes away. Johnson poked his head round the corner of the doorway into the bathroom.

"Hey, two shower stalls. We should get in quick."

"Yeah," said Cash. He stepped back from Ian, trying to quell the lust sparking over his skin. "I'd like first shower."

"No, let me go first," said Ian. Cash didn't think he could bear to sit out here, knowing that Ian was naked, wet and soapy in the showers just on the other side of the wall. He pasted on a smirk, something he hoped was close enough to his usual shit-stirring grin.

"If we play our cards right, we could both get in there ahead of Johnson," he said. Ian straightened up, hands going to his hips. He looked interested, biting his lip and considering.

"Okay," he said, "grab your stuff." Cash obeyed, scooping up his bag. "Hey, Johnson," called Ian, "I think you forgot your soap." A muffled curse sounded from the bathroom, followed by the pad of bare feet. Johnson emerged looking grumpy in just his boxers. Cash shoved him hard, sending him stumbling further into the room. Both he and Ian shot into the bathroom, slamming the door behind them and locking it, giggling madly as Johnson pounded on the door and threatened retribution.

Cash felt almost normal for a moment, laughing madly as Singer wolf-whistled and Marshall laughed over Johnson's half-naked body. He was sure Singer would be taking advantage of Johnson's partial nudity soon enough. For just an instant, there was no itchy awareness of Ian and his bare, tempting skin. Then he pushed off the door and looked at the stalls and it all rushed back. He was going to have to get naked. In front of Ian. And he still had a hard on. He felt his cheeks flame, but Ian was already over at the little bench that ran the length of the room, dropping his bag and pulling out his toiletries. He popped the button on his jeans and lowered the zip and Cash finally pulled himself together enough to look away and shuffle to the other end of the bench with his head down, carefully keeping his gaze anywhere other than on Ian. He could hear the rustle of clothing, though, and he could imagine how Ian must look.

He hated himself for thinking like this about his bandmate. Tugging his own shirt over his head, he castigated himself for suddenly noticing how hot Ian was; he was a creeper, the sort that lusted over his friends. It wasn't even the gay thing that made it creepy and weird; he'd known he liked dudes for a while. It was the fact that this was one of his best friends, and he suddenly couldn't stop looking at him and thinking about him and his gorgeous skin and the tattoos he'd like to trace with his tongue. He'd been down that road of obsession with a friend before and it had nearly destroyed him.

"You're awfully quiet," said Ian. Cash concentrated on folding up his t-shirt.

"I've got a headache," he said.

"Too bad," said Ian. Cash heard the rustle of the shower curtain and the thrum of water hitting the concrete. He made himself thumb open the button on his jeans and push them down slowly from his hips and down his thighs. Toeing off his sneakers, he kicked them under the bench and shuffled off the rest of his clothing before grabbing his towel and toiletries and holding them in front of him as he walked to his stall and turned the water on. Ian was already under the water, humming and splashing. Cash felt like a sleaze, because it wasn't like he hadn't heard this before, but it had never made him hard until now, not just listening. Well, he was still hard from before. He hoped his towel covered everything.

The hot water on his shoulders was heaven, guilty conscience or not. He tipped his head back and let the water soak through his short hair. Straightening up, he cleaned himself efficiently, wanting to get out of the water and out of the bathroom as quickly as possible. Soaping up his legs and feet, bent over in half, he heard the tone of Ian's humming change and stood so quickly that he almost overbalanced. He knew that noise; he'd heard that one too, late at night in the van or from another bed in a crowded hotel room. But he'd never heard it like this before, when he was wired to awareness of everything Ian did.

His boner back with a vengeance, Cash tried to ignore the muffled sounds from the other stall. He knew that ordinarily he'd either be wolf-whistling and telling Ian to cut it out or he'd be joining in with a maximum of porn noises. His usual responses weren't working, because, _fuck_, he wanted. He wanted to be under the water with Ian, tilting his face up for kisses that would muffle those little whimpers and slightly gasping breaths. Cash's hand encircled his cock without him giving it conscious permission and he bit his lip against making any noise, the sort that would give away what a perv he was.

Cash's nerves sizzled as he tried desperately to think of something other than Ian, naked and jacking his own cock on the other side of a thin partition. Cash could just imagine how he'd look, maybe braced against the wall with one hand so the water pounded down on his back and streamed down his sides as he stroked. Shaking his head, Cash fought to replace Ian's image with that of some random girl, but the lips he imagined around his cock changed into Ian's and he had to jam his other hand into his mouth to stifle the groan at that image. He fisted his cock desperately, skin buzzing and spine tingling already. He moved faster, working his hand tightly, listening helplessly as Ian brought himself off with a badly muffled curse. That was it for Cash, sending him flying over the edge and down the other side, come spilling over his hand and body jerking and shuddering so hard he smacked his head against the wall.

"Cash?" asked Ian, turning the water off in his cubicle. "Okay?" Cash removed his hand from his mouth and looked down at the teethmarks in the fleshy part of his palm, then at the other, slowly rinising clean.

"Yeah, the floor's a bit slippery," he said. He heard the rustle of Ian drying himself and shoved down all his guilty feelings and shame. He'd worry about them later. Much later, when he figured out how to turn off this sudden and unfortunate attraction. It couldn't end well, Cash just knew it.

&gt;&gt;&gt;&gt;

Cash couldn't stop looking, not now that he'd seen. It had been two weeks and he was no closer to being able to switch off his awareness of Ian at all times. They were crammed in a van or a dressing room constantly, and even on stage Cash wasn't able to stop himself from staring. He was going crazy, twitching restlessly with the desire to touch all the time. Ian seemed oblivious, as much in Cash's space as he ever had been, or maybe even more. Cash had caught a few appraising looks from the Alexes, though, and he just wondered which one was going to be sent to talk to him. He just hoped it wasn't Singer, because it was generally a bad idea to punch your lead singer in the face. Even when you were their best friend. His lip twisted at that thought.

Tipping his head back against the wall behind him, Cash savoured a rare moment of solitude and stared up at the tiny patch of smoggy sky visible from his position, just outside one of the back doors of tonight's venue. They were having a hotel night tonight, and Cash wasn't sure if he was looking forward to it or not. He wanted to sleep on a real bed, sure, one that wasn't moving, and where he was more removed from the snores of his bandmates. Ian didn't snore, and Cash hated himself for knowing that. He pulled out a crumpled pack of cigarettes and fumbled for his lighter.

"Here, use mine," said Johnson.

"Fuck," said Cash, jerking upright and staring at Johnson. "How the fuck did you get here?"

"You were pretty deep in thought," Johnson replied, shrugging. "I didn't really need my ninja skills." He held out the lighter and Cash took it, lighting his cigarette and dragging in a deep lungful of smoke. He coughed on the exhale as he handed the lighter back so that Johnson could light up too.

"You drew the short straw, huh?" asked Cash, when it looked like the silence was going to stretch out forever.

"What?" asked Johnson.

"To come and talk to me," said Cash. He waved his hand in an indeterminate sweep. "About my thing. You know."

"I know you're fucking batshit," said Johnson. "Ever since we met, that was clear." Johnson's voice was neutral, but Cash could remember a time when that statement would have been loaded. It wasn't that many years ago. Johnson flicked ash from the end of his cigarette and put it back between his lips like the conversation was over. You never could tell with him, maybe he thought it was.

"About Ian?" asked Cash. He wanted to shut up, if Johnson wasn't going to push it, but his mouth opened and he just kept talking. In some ways, it was a relief to get it off his chest. "About what a huge creep I am and how I've been staring at him and how, fuck. Alex, I'm so fucked, what am I going to do?" He looked away after the last sentence, not wanting to see Johnson's face. Johnson had more reason than some to know exactly what sort of a creep Cash was.

"You mean, even after this last two weeks of the pervy longing looks, you still haven't bought a clue?" asked Johnson. He laughed and Cash bristled. He should have kept his mouth shut. Throwing his cigarette on the ground, he turned to storm off. Johnson's arm round his shoulders stopped him, dragging him back in so Johnson could shake him gently.

"Fucking what?" huffed Cash. "Need to do some more laughing?"

"Only because Singer owes me twenty bucks now," said Johnson. "I told him you were oblivious still, but he was sure, so fucking sure that you'd worked it out."

"Worked what out?" snapped Cash.

"I'll tell you if you promise faithfully not to do anything about it until after Friday, because then I win the betting pool," said Johnson.

"Fuck you," said Cash.

"Oh, I'm not the one who wants to get fucked by you," said Johnson, laughing softly. "You're not fucking subtle, Cash, but neither is Ian."

"What?" asked Cash again.

"You heard me. Unsubtle, the pair of you, but you add frighteningly obtuse to the list."

"You didn't even finish high school," grumbled Cash. "Fuck off with your SAT words."

"My SAT words get me laid," retorted Johnson, "but you don't have to worry about that. Ian likes you as a douche."

Johnson let go of Cash and disappeared back into the venue, letting the door bang shut behind him. Cash was still confused, puzzling over Johnson's words as he followed more slowly. He rounded the corner into the dressing room to find Singer perched on Johnson's knee, clinging to his shoulder and laughing into his neck. Johnson smirked at him and Cash scowled back.

"Cashmoney, I was just about to send out a search party," said Ian. Cash stopped and looked at him, tucked up on the couch in a little folded bundle of limbs with a guitar on his knee. "Come and help me with this song."

Cash was on the couch before Johnson's laughter even registered, Ian scooting over so they were pressed up close together, all of the heat from Ian's body bleeding warm into Cash. Cash wanted to snuggle closer still, but he shot Johnson a glare even as Ian put his hand on Cash's arm, wrapped up high under his elbow.

"What's wrong?" Ian asked.

"Johnson is a fucking great douchebag," said Cash. He tried not to spill out his confusion, or his urge to kiss Ian. He was still puzzling over Johnson's last words, feeling a little lost, but unable to control the way his skin tingled under Ian's fingers.

"I think you're pretty awesome, though," said Ian. Cash faced him then, looking at his open, beaming face, the unselfconscious way he was still touching Cash. The way he was always touching Cash.

"Cash has stumbled onto the perimeter of wisdom," announced Johnson, making Singer laugh even harder.

"Stop, stop," begged Singer, "or I won't be able to sing tonight." Johnson's hand traced slow circles on Singer's back, fingers under his shirt to touch bare skin as he pressed a smile and a kiss of apology into Singer's neck. Cash felt paralysed with the weight of his realisation. Ian _knew_. The door banged open as Marshall walked in, loaded down with food. He stopped in the doorway and looked from Johnson and Singer to Cash and Ian.

"Jesus, the gay love band never stops," he muttered, dumping the bags on the table before going to find Sonny. Cash stared after him, because just an hour ago, he would have totally laughed and thought Marshall was just talking about Johnson and Singer, but he realised, with horror, that Marshall was talking about _him_. And _Ian_. About them, like they were a _couple_, how Johnson and Singer were. With, like, cuddles and in jokes. And, oh _fuck_ sex. He wasn't sure if he was elated or terrified.

"Oh fuck," said Cash, scrambling up from the couch.

"What?" asked Ian, blinking up at him in confusion.

"I, um, forgot something. I don't know where. I'm just gonna," Cash stammered, jerking his thumb over his shoulder and slipping out the door and down the corridor, ignoring the murmur of voices behind him. He kept walking, taking twists and turns to the outside, walking mindlessly round the buses and vans until it was nearly dark and his phone vibrated insistently in his pocket before shrilling out the first notes of Singer's infuriating ring tone. He could nearly feel the smugness through the plastic.

&gt;&gt;&gt;&gt;

He felt off all night, hitting the notes by rote, but not hitting the feeling. He could feel his band looking at him, concern written on Ian's face, and a little on Singer's, even if Johnson was smirking like an asshole. He kept his head down as much as possible, concentrating on his fingers and the way they moved over the strings. He felt so off balance and unsure of what to do. He'd thought that he just needed to get over this attraction, but the mere thought that Ian liked him back propelled the whole situation into the unknown. Leaving the stage as quickly as possible, he ducked back into the dressing room before any of his bandmates.

"What the fuck was going on out there?" demanded Singer, bursting through the door in a flurry of sweat and indignation. "Is this about Johnson hassling you?"

"No," said Cash, "drop it, Alex."

"Drop it? You stood up there like a stone, after disappearing like an asshole earlier," said Singer. "If you're going to freak the fuck out, how about you do it when you're not going to ruin a perfectly good set?"

 

"Fuck you," said Cash. He turned to rummage in his bag, trying to physically block off Singer from his consciousness. It was harder than usual to tune him out. The door closed quietly behind him and he hoped that maybe Singer had gone and left him to deal with his confusion by himself.

"Personally," said Johnson, "I'm not getting why you're freaking out."

Cash groaned and brought his hand up to rub over his eyes. "I don't want to talk about it," he said.

"Too bad," said Johnson. "Because Ian is outside with Marshall right now, and _he's_ freaking out because he thinks that he scared you and that you really don't want him at all and he's just got all his hopes up for nothing."

Cash swallowed hard. "We all know how well it ends when I try something with my friend," he said.

"Don't fucking make this about me," said Singer. Cash startled. He hadn't realised that Singer was still there. He thought it was just him and Johnson. "Yeah, you fucked that up, but this is different."

"Fucked it up is right, Jesus," Cash said. He could still remember the time just after the band started, how he'd watched Singer and Johnson get closer and closer to each other. The clawing feel of jealousy in his belly had made him sick, the near desperate urge to touch Singer and claim him eating away at his mind. He could remember grabbing Singer and kissing him so hard that Singer's braces had cut into his mouth, ignoring the way he'd pushed at Cash to get off him. He could remember everything, even the look on Johnson's face as he had pulled him off and punched him so hard Cash had hit the wall as he staggered back.

"We got over it," said Johnson. "At least, I thought we all got over it."

"Jesus, Cash, stop being a douche," said Singer. "This is totally not the same situation. Ian has been into you since the beginning and I am kind of ashamed that my best friend is such an oblivious dicksmack that he didn't notice even _after_ he realised that he really would like to hit that."

"I'll still fuck it up," said Cash. He finally straightened and turned, looking from Singer where he stood in the middle of the floor with his hands on his hips and a grumpy look on his face to Johnson, leaning against the door with his arms folded across his chest.

"Fuck, stop being so fatalistic," said Johnson.

"Stop using your SAT words," retorted Cash.

"I like his SAT words," said Singer.

"Just because you get hot because your drop-out boyfriend has a large vocabulary to compensate for his small dick," said Cash.

"Who's getting laid tonight? The drop-out who's secure in his masculinity, or you?" asked Johnson.

Cash stopped and looked at them both. "We're so stupid," he said. He reached for Singer and dragged him close into a hug, not even caring about how gross they both were.

"Speak for yourself," said Singer. "You're the only one here with his head up his ass." Cash scowled and let go of Singer enough to tickle him instead, making him shriek with laughter and bat at his hands ineffectually as he squirmed to get away. "Alex, help me," Singer squeaked as he wriggled. Johnson laughed and stepped away from the door, opening it behind him.

"It's safe to come in," he called. Cash stopped, letting go of Singer as Marshall herded Ian into the room. Ian looked crushed. Even his hair was drooping sadly and he was biting his lip and fidgeting, looking absurdly nervous. Cash just stared at him, letting his lust and his like sift through all his freak outs and stupidity.

"Get with the program, people," said Singer. "Kiss the girl."

"The fuck?" blurted Cash, attention diverted. "I am not fucking going to kiss Ian to a chorus of _Disney_."

"Are you going to kiss me?" asked Ian. Cash looked at him again, folding his arms over his chest and trying to avoid the smirks of the Alexes. Fuck them and their triplet powers.

"Yes," he said. "When we are not surrounded by gossipy, smirky assholes and we have an appropriate soundtrack."

"Whatever, show some gratitude or you two can share a room with Marshall and Sonny tonight," said Johnson. Marshall made a disgusted noise and Singer laughed.

"I think they should anyway," Singer said. "I mean, with Cash's taste in music they might _never_ find an appropriate soundtrack."

"Fuck you," said Cash. He looked at Ian, ignoring the rest of the room.

"Um, how about we find a ride and go back to the hotel early?" Ian asked. Cash nodded eagerly. Ian laughed and stepped forward, tugging on Cash's hand to drag him out of the room and down the hallway.

&gt;&gt;&gt;&gt;

It wasn't until Cash was standing outside the door to their room - and _their_ room had never had so many nervous and anticipatory connotations before - that he managed to stop looking at Ian. And that was only because he had to look to see how to fit the key in the lock. Ian was right behind him, and pushed him through the door the instant it was opened, making Cash stumble as he dropped his bag and turned. Ian was right there, grinning like a dork as he kicked the door shut and reached for Cash in the same movement. Cash let himself be caught, tired of pretending that he wasn't hot for Ian.

Their noses bumped first and Ian giggled before he got his hand under Cash's chin, tilting him just right for a first kiss that was soft and exploratory. Cash palmed Ian's shoulders and down his arms a little before dropping his hands to Ian's waist to pull him in closer. Ian pulled back, just a little.

"How far do you want to go?" he asked. "I mean, we can just do what you like."

"Are you kidding?" asked Cash. He slid his hands down further to squeeze Ian's ass for emphasis. "I want to do everything," he said. "Um, everything you'll let me do."

"So I can fuck you?" asked Ian.

"Hell yes," said Cash. "Why the fuck are you still talking about it?" Ian laughed and pushed Cash backwards, the pair of them trading slick, biting kisses until Cash hit the bed and tumbled backwards. He felt grimy and sweaty, but he didn't see any point in getting clean right before Ian fucked him.

"Get naked," said Ian. "Come on, do you know how long I've been staring at your ugly-ass tattoos without being able to touch them?"

"They're not ugly," protested Cash, already toeing at his sneakers to get them off. Ian pulled his shirt over his head and beamed.

"They're fucking hideous," he said, "but I don't care." Cash licked his lips and wriggled on the covers, trying to get his shirt off. "I still want to bite them."

When Cash emerged from his t-shirt, Ian had shucked his jeans and boxers and was naked in front of him. Cash felt like his brain had shorted out. Fingers fumbling on the button of his own jeans, he wasn't sure he was even going to last until he got naked. Not if he couldn't even make his fingers cooperate enough to get the demin down his thighs. Ian added his efforts, the barest scrape of his fingers on Cash's legs making his breath catch. Ian pulled his socks off too and stood over him.

"Need an invitation?" Cash asked. "What the fuck are you doing?"

"I can't remember where my condoms are," Ian answered.

"Dork," said Cash, scrambling off the bed and pushing Ian down on to it. He grinned as Ian squeaked and flailed, bouncing a couple of times before squirming up to sit propped up against the headboard. Cash retrieved condoms and lube, tossing them to Ian before he crawled up the bed to straddle him. Ian tugged him down into an impatient kiss. This was everything Cash had been waiting for. Ian was all rough fingers on Cash's face and neck, shifting them restlessly over his back and sides, skimming up Cash's chest to tease his nipples. His mouth was hungry and urgent and he made small noises of encouragement and pleasure into the kiss as Cash leaned closer into him.

The first cold smear of Ian's slick fingers over Cash's ass made Cash jerk, biting into Ian's lower lip harder than he intended. Ian moaned underneath him, nudging a finger at Cash's hole and circling teasingly before sliding in. It was Cash's turn to moan. This was blissful, being able to touch and knowing that Ian wanted him to. He clutched at Ian's shoulder and the top of his arm, cursing quietly as Ian added a second finger quickly and began to stretch him open.

"Feel good, baby?" asked Ian. Cash looked at the pink flush across Ian's cheeks, the way his hair was starting to stick at his temples, just like it did when they were playing, and he pushed back onto Ian's fingers impatiently.

"Yeah," he said. "Sugar." Ian laughed and Cash laughed too, even though it broke in the middle on a groan as Ian twisted deviously and got a third finger in. Bending forward, Cash mouthed along Ian's collarbones and over the top of his chest, touching his lips to the tattoo there. Stretching up a little further, he bit Ian's throat, worrying the skin with his teeth before sucking hard. Ian tipped his head back, offering even more skin to be marked. He tasted sweaty, smelled like old clothes and faded deodorant, but Cash found the flavour of his skin underneath it all.

"Fuck, ready?" Ian gasped. Cash nodded against his neck, moaning as Ian pulled his fingers out, fumbling for the condom. Cash sat back up, taking it from his fingers and tearing the foil. It felt more intimate than it should have to slick it down over Ian's cock. Cash felt careful, like Ian was something he was going to look after.

"Like this?" asked Cash. Swallowing hard, he looked down at Ian's body. "You want me to do all the work?" Ian grinned and dug his fingers into Cash's hips, even though one was still sticky with lube.

"It'd make a nice change," said Ian. Cash laughed softly and leaned down, shifting so that he could wrap his fingers round Ian's cock and angle it just right. He groaned as he slid down; Ian's cock was thick and the sensation nearly too much even after the stretching. Looking down, Cash watched Ian bite his lip and arch up to meet the slow descent of Cash's body, the fingers in his hips gripping tight. As Cash settled, Ian shifted restlessly, tiny rocking thrusts that made them both moan. Leaning forward a little, Cash braced his arms either side of Ian's shoulders.

"I'm not gonna last," he said. He was breathing hard and his skin felt too tight and oversensitive. He could already feel his orgasm clawing at his belly, tightening in the base of his spine.

"Oh shit," said Ian. "Me neither." He thrust up, urging Cash to move on him, setting an urgent, unsteady rhythm. The headboard thumped against the wall and Cash half laughed through another groan, hoping that none of the others were back yet. Ian laughed too, breathless and perfect, flushed red half way down his chest with the muscles in his arms standing out as he moved Cash how he wanted. Cash went with it, each stroke dragging exquisitely over his prostate and making him moan incoherent nonsense in counterpoint to the squeak of the mattress and the thump of the headboard. Ian was quieter, but his lower lip was bitten red. Cash wanted to run his tongue over it, but his body was tightening up, shaking apart into orgasm already.

He came hard, eyes squeezing shut and Ian's name in a jumble of words on his lips. He jerked erratically, Ian fucking him steadily through it until Cash moaned and wound down, panting. Licking his lips, he looked down at Ian's chest, striped with his come, then up at his face.

"Come on," Cash said. "Fuck me."

Ian complied, driving up into Cash's body with hard, short thrusts that made him moan and teeter on the edge of too much. Watching Ian made it worth it. His eyes were closed, mouth open and panting desperately for each particle of oxygen. He gripped Cash hard enough to leave bruises, making one final surge into his body before tensing up. He looked gorgeous, and Cash felt possessive pleasure as he watched him fall apart with a low moan, slowly sinking back into the bed.

He blinked up at Cash and smiled as Cash moved off him and fumbled the condom off, slipping it back into its discarded wrapper and dropping it over the edge of the bed.

"You're so fucking gross," said Ian. He snagged Cash's discarded t-shirt to mop at his chest.

"You love it," said Cash. He settled down next to Ian, cuddling up close to him. Ian's hand smoothed over his hair as he turned enough to press his face into Cash's neck and hum his agreement.

"You know what I'd love that's not gross?" Ian asked.

"A shower," guessed Cash. "With me. And frottage."

"Have you been hanging out with Johnson again?" Ian asked. "Yes, I would like a shower with you and your fancy-ass sex."

"I guess I'm lucky you don't need big words to get off," said Cash.

"Yeah, you're lucky alright," Ian said.


End file.
